


Unconditional

by wibblywobblymess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Melissa McCall & Sheriff Stilinski get married, based upon Imagines, stiles & derek are each others dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblymess/pseuds/wibblywobblymess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parrish broke up with his girlfriend when he realized he was something supernatural, but now they are at the wedding of Mama McCall and Papa Stilinski, and it's not sitting right with...well, either of them.</p>
<p>(Holy god, shit summary, I am so sorry, but this is based upon two imagines, links in the Notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> Based upon the two following imagines:  
> http://imaginesteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/103631414636  
> http://imaginesteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/102356180805

The wedding had been so beautiful. Melissa had chosen soft shades of rose and lilac, with a rich red accent, as the colors. Each table was round, not square or rectangle, so everyone could see each other and no one was left out of conversation. Her dress was flattering and perfect, her maid of honor and bridesmaids were lovely. John’s tie was a royal purple, despite Stiles constantly begging them to just make the _tuxes_ that color. Everything was perfect.

You looked around the room, a smile on your lips, as you saw how happy everyone seemed. Melissa had considered having one giant table for the party and guests, but after realizing how many people would be coming, she decided to make several smaller tables, instead. No one would be ignored that way. The only thing that made your smile falter was the table you had been placed at.

John and Melissa, of course, took the only rectangle table, near the front of the reception hall. The tables spanned out from there, seating the wedding party, and then family, and then friends, and then finally coworkers. You had no problems being at the coworker table – after all, that was what you were, day in and day out, sitting in the front of the station, answering the phones, talking to everyone that came through the front doors. You were personable, and friendly, in your seat. It was what you were _supposed_ to do. You didn’t try to kid yourself into thinking you belonged with those at the _friends_ table.

The thing that bothered you, though, was looking across the room, and seeing Jordan’s face light up as he laughed and talked with John and Melissa, or Scott and Kira, or Stiles, or Derek. It was childish, and you knew it, to be upset to see him sitting at one of the tables reserved for Friends. But two months ago, you had been so sure that you’d be sitting there, as well.

Two months ago, though, things were different. You weren’t nervous, stressed out, to go to work. You didn’t get antsy, sitting there at the front desk, fighting the urge to turn around and look at Jordan through the window, or call him on his extension to find out what he wanted for lunch, or wondering if he was going to call you to see if you wanted to go out for dinner. Two months ago, you were happy, and the two of you were dating.

Of course, two months ago, you were blissfully unaware of what made Beacon Hills the way it was.

Two months ago, a rogue creature – not that you knew what kind, because there were so many you still didn’t know how to keep them all straight – had run through, putting a lot of people in danger, including yourself. Jordan had to come face to face with the fact that he was _something_ , though he and the Pack (he had a Pack! A Pack, with a Capital P!) were still trying to figure out what. Of course, you (possibly foolishly) had hoped that would be it. Because, what reason did you have to be upset, or angry, or any other list of things you could have been, when he didn’t really have a choice in being whatever he was? You cared about him anyways. But, no. That wasn’t it.

When he sat you down, to tell you about everything, he gave you time to process, but he ended the conversation with “I’m…scared, you know…that whatever I am could lead to you getting hurt. So…I…I think we need to take a break.”

If you had ever heard a worse sentence, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

Tonight, though, was the wedding. And because Jordan had been too scared to be with you until he figured himself out, he was having a great night, across the room, with the Stilinski-McCalls and their Pack (you weren’t sure you would ever like that word again), while you were sitting at a table with a mix of officers and nurses, all of whom had no idea you were sitting there, as they talked and laughed amongst themselves.

Even as a kid, you never felt so childish.

Shoving away from the table, you made your way to the bar, ducking your head towards the bartender so he could hear your order over the music. You didn’t need much. A shot would do just fine. He chuckled, and slid you a glass of water as you slammed back that shot and nearly slammed the glass back down on the bar.

“Looks like a rough night for you.”

“I’m fine. Thanks for the water,” you replied, grasping your little plastic cup, and downing almost all of it in a couple of gulps.

“Thank God that’s not Scotch.” You nearly choked on the water, swallowing hard as you turned towards Jordan as he stepped up behind you.

“Wish it were, but Stiles refused to allow it. Can’t blame him. …I’ll get out of your way,” you answered, leaving the cup on the bar and stepping around him to return to your table. His hand caught your elbow, a frown on his lips.

“Y/N…are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He clearly didn’t believe you as you pulled your arm away, and moved back towards your table, but instead of calling you on it right away, he sighed, and headed towards the bar again.

               By the time he returned from the bar, two glasses of champagne in his hands, the rest of your table had filtered out onto the dance floor with most of the party, leaving you by yourself, honestly considering sneaking out.

“Mind if I sit?” You looked up at him, frowning, but shrugged and pointed to the seat in front of you. He smiled, softly, and as he sat, he placed one of the glasses in front of you. “Brought you some champagne.”

“Thanks…”

“…look…”

“No. No, Jordan. Not…I don’t have it in me, tonight, to have some conversation with you to make you feel better, because it’s not…I don’t have any faith that it will make me feel better.” He frowned at you, and placed his glass on the table, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Just, please tell me you understand why I said we needed to take a break.”

“Oh, we didn’t take a break. You broke up with me. If we were taking a break, we’d still talk, we’d still fully acknowledge each other. You said you didn’t want us dating until you knew what you were, and that, that I was okay with, because at least we’d have still been friends. But the last two months, we’re barely even _coworkers_ , Jordan. And I don’t…I don’t get it.”

“…the way we left things, that day, I just…I thought you would start talking to me when you were ready.” You frowned this time, and looked up at him. Yes, you had been upset, but who wouldn’t have been? But you didn’t realize that was how he had seen things.

               Sighing, and rubbing your eyes, you listened as the music changed, from an up-tempo song that had previously had Stiles _shaking his groove thang_ on the dance floor, to a slower song that had him leaning into Derek, who looked so content that it almost made you cry.

               Jordan must have seen the look on your face change, and he glanced over his shoulder towards the people on the floor, as you listened to the song play. _Unconditionally_  filtered through the speakers, and you bit your lip, leaning forward, and looking at Jordan again.

“I don’t care…if you turn out to be Wolf, or Fox, or Coyote…or a Fairy, or a Pixie – whatever the difference is – or a swamp monster, or freaking Godzilla. I…care about _you_. And, I get it, you don’t want me to get hurt, but how do you think I feel at the idea of you getting hurt? And,” she started, before he could say anything, “I get it, you were set on fire in your squad car and walked away without a scratch – and clothes, as I understand it – but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re invincible.” He chuckled, and laid his hands over yours.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, and nod.

“Me too.” His fingers curl around your hands, and he tilts his head towards the dance floor.

“…would you care to dance with me?” You blush, but smile, and nod, as he helps you to your feet and leads you out to join the dancing.

               Things were far from perfect, far from where you really wanted them to be. But swaying with your arms around his shoulders, his curled almost protectively around your waist, his cheek against your temple as he hummed the song sweetly into your ear…

               It was a very good place to start.


End file.
